


The Abysmal Bride

by madrabbitgirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergent, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, one bed trope, sharing a bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl
Summary: “Sherlock,” John said, patience tipping into irritation as he tried to remember an occasion where Sherlock might have mentioned this to him. “You have never invited me to attend a wedding with you. Ever.”“I’m sure I have,” Sherlock said, stepping away to pick up his violin. “I mentioned it to you three weeks ago on a Wednesday, John, and you agreed to come with me.”“Hang on a moment,” John said. “Three weeks ago I worked on Wednesday, I wasn’t even here.”“I thought you agreed with me rather quickly,” Sherlock said.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 235





	The Abysmal Bride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadMags](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMags/gifts).



> * Not brit-picked and written by an American so please be kind.
> 
> * MadMags asked for fluff and sharing one bed, so this happened. It's so disgustingly sweet. Read at your own risk.

They’d been dancing around this tension too, too long. After Sherlock’s return and John’s subsequent move back to Baker Street, there had been some kind of shift between them. Not that he hadn’t felt it before, he had, but John always assumed it was sort of one-sided. Now there were long looks when he thought John was distracted or thoughtful cups of tea left next to John’s chair (and only one of them had been an experiment). There were moments during cases where Sherlock actually seemed to stop and consider what John needed (“Are you hungry?”, “You look tired, John”, “Look at this!”). 

And then there were moments like these.

The murderer had been behind them, chasing them through the darkened streets of London, and honestly, he was gaining on them a bit. 

“Fuck,” John swore, skidding a bit on damp pavement as he followed Sherlock around a corner. “Sher-” 

A hand reached out from an alcove, pulling John in and shoving him against a wall. Hard bricks pressed into John’s back as Sherlock crowded him, making sure there was almost no space between them. With his collar turned up, his dark curls and coat, Sherlock was just another shadow, camouflaging John from the criminal at their heels. He leaned down and breathed a quiet “hush” into John’s ear. They waited for the footsteps to come and then go again, holding their position for what seemed like ages. 

John glanced up at Sherlock, who had closed his eyes and stilled his breathing to almost nothing. It was tempting to lean forward. To think of kisses pressed along that strong jawline, hips pressing together, seeking friction, under the protection of that stupidly expensive coat.

He cleared his throat. 

Sherlock’s eyes opened and he glanced down at John. “I believe it’s safe to move again.” 

“What a relief,” John replied flatly, not wanting to move at all. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” 

“Of course,” Sherlock murmured, and even though he’d said it was safe to move, he was slow to back away from John. Reluctance was etched into his features. “John-” 

A sound had him pausing. He frowned. “Run.” 

And then he was off down the alley, leaving John, and the murderer, to follow.

***

“Alls well that ends well, I suppose,” John said, shrugging out of his jacket. He hung it on the hook by the door. Lestrade had the man in custody and with minimal injury to either John or Sherlock. “I know it’s four in the morning but fancy a cuppa? I’m too keyed up to sleep.”

“Hmm, no, and really you shouldn’t either. Mycroft is sending the car at nine,” Sherlock told him, hanging his coat as well. “You’ll want to sleep before we leave.” 

John frowned. “We’re leaving?” 

“Yes, John, at nine,” Sherlock replied, exasperated. His expression said he thought John was being very stupid indeed. “We’re expected at my cousin Vanessa’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Sherlock,” John said, patience tipping into irritation as he tried to remember an occasion where Sherlock might have mentioned this to him. “You have never invited me to attend a wedding with you. Ever.” 

“I’m sure I have,” Sherlock said, stepping away to pick up his violin. John intervened, taking the instrument out of his hand before he could start playing. 

“Not at half four, that’s not fair to Mrs. Hudson,” John told him, attempting to hold the instrument out of Sherlock’s reach. “Now, about this wedding-”

“I mentioned it to you three weeks ago on a Wednesday, John, and you agreed to come with me,” Sherlock replied, making a grab for the violin. John hopped away, nearly tripping on some books that were piled on the floor.

“I certainly did not,” he insisted, putting his arm chair between them. Sherlock watched him with a predatory gaze, waiting for the best moment to take back his toy. “No, Sherlock. She’s getting older and she needs her rest.”

“She’ll be up in an hour to make advances on the bread delivery driver next door,” Sherlock said, his voice dropping to almost a purr. He faked a move to the left, keeping John on his toes.

“Hang on a moment,” John said. “Three weeks ago I worked on Wednesday, I wasn’t even here.”

“I thought you agreed with me rather quickly,” Sherlock said and this time he darted to the right. John dodged, hopping over the coffee table. It was a bad move and left him trapped just a little. “You’re wasting time that you could be packing.” 

“I’m not going with you,” the doctor said, just as Sherlock leapt towards him which sent them both tumbling onto the couch. Thankfully, the violin was still firmly in John’s grasp. Breathless, Sherlock looked down at John, and for the second time that evening it seemed like he was going to say something before changing his mind. 

“You’ll want to pack,” Sherlock said. His fingers gripped the violin, gently tugging it from John’s stunned grasp. He righted himself and went to stand by the window. “Ah. Look, she’s already awake.” 

He put the violin to his shoulder, reaching for the bow that had been left by the sill, and started to play. It took John a few moments, but he was able to sit up and shake himself out of his stupor. He huffed and grumbled, but in the end, he managed exactly one hour of sleep before the car turned up.

***

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Jones was saying as she led them up the stairs of the grand house where the wedding was being held. She was a kind older housekeeper who, Sherlock assured him, enjoyed taking care of the old estate as she had a fondness for Regency romances and a vibrant imagination. “We had two rooms for you, but then Vanessa insisted that her-”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” John told her, trying to memorize the way back to the main stairs as she led them down another hallway. “It’s no problem at all.” 

“I do appreciate it. I’ve read your blog, Dr. Watson, I know you’ve had some interesting stake-outs,” Mrs. Jones told him. “It’s still dreadfully rude of her to invite so many additional guests to stay when she knew we had limited accommodations! But then, she’s been in such a fuss over-”

Both Sherlock and John rolled their eyes, having already been treated to the tragic tale of Vanessa’s dream gown being simply ruined because of some mix-up with the beading. Or the flowers not arriving promptly or a chicken shortage forcing some change to the menus. 

“And here we are, gentlemen,” Mrs. Jones said, showing them into a decent sized room with one bed in the center of it. “We would have tried to squeeze a cot in for you but they’re all in use right now.”

“Ah, yes. I noticed that Aunt Vi had brought all of the children,” Sherlock said. He set his luggage on the bed. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones. This will be fine.” 

“The bathroom is just through there and it connects to your brother’s room, Mr. Holmes,” she told him. “I hope you enjoy your visit. Best get changed, the ceremony starts soon.” The older woman showed herself out, closing the door behind her. 

“You probably don’t need to change,” John griped, unzipping the garment bag he’d brought. Thankfully, he had one good suit that would work in a pinch, but it wasn’t as well-made or luxurious as Sherlock’s wardrobe. He started to shuck off his jumper but paused when he noticed Sherlock watching him. “What?”

“Are you sure you’re alright with the sleeping arrangements?” Sherlock asked. John shrugged. 

“Nothing we can really do, is there? It’s not like you’re going to offer to bunk with Mycroft,” John said, folding his jumper and placing it on the end of the bed. Sherlock’s repulsed, wrinkled expression agreed with him. “Besides, it’s a big bed and you hardly sleep anyway.” 

“True,” Sherlock agreed. He was still watching John, though. Watching as jeans were slid off and replaced with trousers, as a dress shirt buttoned up over the white undershirt he wore. John rolled his eyes.

“Sherlock, it’s fine, really,” John assured him. He was attempting to tie his tie but he had to admit that he’d never been great at doing them up. “I’ve come a long way since that whole ‘not his date’ thing. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Give it here,” Sherlock said, moving to stand in front of John. With quick, graceful movements, he had John’s tie perfectly knotted and nestled under his collar. He smiled down at John. “Alright. If you say it’s fine, I’ll believe you.” 

John grinned back up at him. “It’s all fine.”

***

“You left me with Mycroft!” John accused, feeling just a touch lightheaded from the amount of champagne he’d ingested at the reception. Sherlock was reclined on their bed with his arms under his head, staring at the ceiling. His pristine suit was a dark contrast to the pastel bedding. “Your cousins are pretentious.”

“You think I’m pretentious,” Sherlock pointed out, raising an eyebrow at John. 

“You are pretentious,” John replied, sitting the bottle of champagne he’d lifted from the bar on the nightstand. He grinned at Sherlock, motioning to the bottle. “If you won’t go to the party, I’ll bring the party to you.” 

“I’ve had enough partying for the evening. So have you,” Sherlock said, eyes returning to stare at the ceiling. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John asked, sliding off his shoes. He shed his jacket and tie before starting on the buttons of his shirt. 

“You were dancing with that bridesmaid,” Sherlock said accusingly. He sat up and watched John intently, irritation lurking in his eyes. “Seven times.” 

“So what? I wanted to dance. You wanted to sulk in corners and deduce everyone,” John said with a quiet laugh. 

“You exchanged phone numbers.” 

“Yes, because her mother is looking for a new GP. I didn’t give her my personal number, I gave her the clinic number, you nutter.” John hesitated now that he was down to his boxers and his tee shirt. He’d been in the thing all day and he felt like switching to a fresh one to sleep, but some days he still felt insecure about his scar. Especially when Sherlock was sitting on the bed looking like a rumpled GQ model watching him. 

The tall git seemed to get the hint and he turned away, stripping himself of his own shirt and giving John a little bit of privacy. “You could have asked me to dance.” 

“Oh, right. As though there’s a universe where that would ever happen,” John argued. He slid his shirt off, but hadn’t looked for the spare yet. As he ruffled through his bag looking for it, he felt fingers trace his wounded shoulder. He froze and then turned his head to see Sherlock standing behind him, gently brushing the scar tissue. It was another one of those unquantifiable moments. 

“Isn’t there?” Sherlock murmured. John let his lips twist into the barest of smiles. He turned around, held out his hand, and said, 

“Would you like to dance with me, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock hesitated, but then placed his hand in John’s. “There isn’t any music.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” John chided, bringing his other hand to Sherlock’s waist, pulling him close. It probably would have been easier for the taller man to lead, but it seemed he was waiting on John’s direction in this particular arena. They started to sway together, hips pressed close, Sherlock leaning forward to rest his cheek against John’s hair. 

“No, I leave that to you,” Sherlock argued. He seemed to be melting into John’s waiting embrace. 

“Idiot. You could have just said something,” John said, repeating his earlier argument. “No use getting in some jealous strop over nothing.” Sherlock didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. John knew that this wasn’t Sherlock’s area, which was fine. John had more than enough experience in taking the romantic lead.

***

“Oh, I do hope you’ll come visit us again, Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Jones was saying as the two men were making their way out of the grand estate. “It’s such a pleasure having a real life detective here. And your brother! Your mother raised such sweet boys, although I was surprised that he had to leave so early yesterday-”

“I’m sorry, what?” John asked, sharing a surprised look with Sherlock.

“Yes, he left just after you retired for the evening,” Mrs. Jones told them. “He said he had some sort of emergency at the office, although I must say, what sort of office has emergencies in the middle of the night, and on a Saturday-” 

“Well, his work is- erm,” John was at a loss for words. Sherlock shrugged.

“He did say to offer the two of you his congratulations, although I suppose he really meant the bride and groom. After that much to drink, it’s easy to mix words,” Mrs. Jones told them before turning to the next set of guests coming down the stairs. “Oh dears! I do hope you enjoyed your stay-” 

John gaped, staring at Sherlock who looked as though he were in between having some kind of break down and laughing hysterically. “We didn’t even need the one bed. He-” 

“He orchestrated the whole thing,” Sherlock confirmed. 

An embarrassed flush crept up John’s neck and over his cheeks, but he tried to fight it back and grinned at Sherlock. “Well, I’ll have to buy him a drink sometime.” 

“Oh really?” Sherlock asked, and they took their luggage out to the waiting car that the irritating older Holmes had sent. 

“Of course.” John waited until they were settled into the back seat to continue the conversation, catching the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat before changing his mind and deciding to lace their fingers together. “Because now we’re only ever going to need one bed, right?” 

Sherlock looked down at their hands and then back at John, letting his own small smile show. “Excellent deduction, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on [My Blog](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


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